Grandma

Grandma Earnestine was a christian. She loved the Lord. And every Sunday morning, rain or shine, she was in church -- front row. Pastors from all over Alabama knew her, too. Heck, I think everyone did. She'd always be the one praying and shouting the loudest, which, of course, is how they loved it. They couldn't get enough.

I used to love going to church with her. Not because of the preaching so much, but because seeing my slightly obese grandma run around the santuary was more than amusing. It was downright histerical. They'd put that holy music on, and that was her cue. She was gone, baby. I'm talking jumping, and shouting, and singing.

I always did wonder where she got the energy. Grandma was a big lady. Stout. Heavy. Fat, even. Picture this: Obese, elderly, black woman running around the church screaming, "hun nan na nan." Yeah, it still gives me the giggles.

She definitely knew who her Lord and Savior was.

Even when she was dying from cancer, her faith never wavered. Now for us, it was devastating. We couldn't bare seeing our grandma -- our big mama -- dying. Amazingly enough, though, while we were all crying and begging God to save her, she was praying for us. On her death bed, my grandma was more concerned about her family than herself. God, she was an amazing woman.

That was who she was. Her life wasn't complicated, at all. She cooked during the holidays, worked for the rich, and worshipped Jesus Christ. Her goals were simple: Pray for her family, pray for her friends, pray for her enemies, and live the way Jesus would want. She was four for four.

Love you, Grandma.

The Beach

One summer, my roommates and I decided to take a trip to the beach. Now, mind you, I had never been to the beach. So I was more than thrilled.

The drive was long -- five hours, actually -- but we made it.

The first girl I saw was wearing what had to have been "The World's Smallest Bikini." I kid you not. I think dental floss comes with more string. Now don't get me wrong, here. I like half-naked women just like the next guy; but this girl looked way too young. She couldn't have been more than 16. Part of me wanted to cover her up, like a big brother. But the other half, well, let's just say covering her up was the last thing on my mind.

So there we were, at the beach. We found a nice spot to chill, unpacked our stuff, and enjoyed the "scenery."

After about fifteen minutes, I got in the water. Now, this is where the story takes a turn for the worse. Remember, I told you this was my first time at the beach, ever. Well, I really didn't know what I had gotten myself into. And to make matters worse, I couldn't swim. Yeah, I'm sure you see where this is going.

So I get in. "Hmm, this isn't too bad," I think to myself. The water was calm. I felt like I had lots of control, so it only made sense to venture out a little further, right? Well, unbeknown to me, there was a steep drop about five feet ahead. (God, I wish I had known that before.) So, as I walked along, it happened. I started to sink, baby!

I screamed to the top of my lungs.

No one was coming, either. Well, it seemed like no one was coming. And I just knew I was going to die. Then, just like that, little bikini girl was grabbing my massive head. Now, just so you can get a good picture of this: Little bikini girl probably weighed no more than 100 lbs, wet. I -- former high school jock -- weighed in at a whopping 250. You should have seen her. She man-handled me like I was nothing, and flung me on the sand like a pro.

"Are you okay," she asked.

Besides the bruised ego, I was more than okay. I just hated the fact that there was this huge crowd standing around. "Yeah, I'm fine, " I whip back, trying my best to sound nonchalant.

The crowd eventually cleared, and my roommates never let me live that little experience down. I never saw little bikini again; and I haven't been to the beach since.

It's something about that whole drowning thing that really gets me.

Uncle Jimmy

Uncle Jimmy was funny. He joked. He danced. He sang. He did whatever he could to brighten your day. And, man, was he good at it. He was a natural. With perfect comedic timing and a flawless sense of wit, it seemed bringing a smile to my face -- or anyone for that matter -- was his sole purpose. He was a good guy. No, wait, he was a great guy.
Unfortunately, though, Uncle Jimmy was also an ex-convict. With six felonies on his record, he was constantly worried about his future. "Who's going to hire a man with six felonies," he'd say. And at 42 years old, he was single, never married, a father of three (who, by the way, he rarely saw) and an ex-drug addict. Crack. Cocaine. Marijuana. You name it, he did it.
Child support payments, court appearances, and unwavering thoughts of an eviction notice placed ever-so-carelessly on his door plagued him constantly. Jobless and with no money in his pockets, he was stuck. Stagnant. And there was nothing any of us could do to help.

First day

Mrs. Henderson was an amazing lady. The fact that she was 76 meant nothing to her -- and you could tell. When Melissa and I got to her room, I couldn't believe she was a patient. She was so chipper.

"Well, good morning! Glad you two could make it. Can I get you anything," she starts. Before we could get a word in, she started again, "Well, you two have a seat. I was so glad to hear someone was coming by..."

The lady wouldn't stop talking. I don't think she took a single breath, either. Melissa and I just kind of stood there, frozen stiff. Heck, we didn't know what to do. And did I mention she looked like Mary Poppins? I think it was the hair.

I couldn't help but wonder, though, "Now what could possibly be wrong with this woman (other than the fact she had an insane amount of energy)?" Then it hit me. "Aha, she's psychotic."

Well, not quite.

Truth was Mrs. Henderson wasn't your typical patient. She was a retired physician, who had spent most of her life doing missionary work. After finally getting the kids out, she and Mr. Henderson, who was also a doctor, decided it was more economical to live the rest of their days at the retirement home.

You should've seen me trying to take her blood pressure. I was so inept. She was my first patient, ever. And, of course, she'd be a retired cardiovascular surgeon with enough energy to put the freakin' energizer bunny to shame. I couldn't help but think this was going to be a long day.

I got nothin'

A friend of mine says to me, "Ju, you should blog." I had never thought about it, but when she said it, I couldn't help but think what a great idea. So, here I am. Blogging.

Problem is I got nothin'. Seriously. I thought I did, but no.

The funny thing is I write all the time. But, today, it's different -- like the ultimate cat got your tongue, or something. I just don't have anything to say, which is so not like me. I love talking. I love writing. Hell, I love attention. So, what the crap?

Maybe it's the whole being on the internet thing. I don't know. Whatever the case, this is my first blog. Hopefully next time I'll have more to say. Hopefully.